


Works of Art

by somegunemojis



Series: Tender Mercies [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: A little friendly rivalry is good for the soul, Arguing, Gen, M/M, Sketching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somegunemojis/pseuds/somegunemojis
Summary: He just thinks it's nice that they're finally getting along.
Relationships: Alessio Rossi & Ihab Rahal, Bettino Tahan & Ihab Rahal, Bettino Tahan/Alessio Rossi
Series: Tender Mercies [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893175





	Works of Art

May, 2011 -- [REDACTED], Libya

The little black book Tahan carries in his pocket still has hundreds of little blank pages. He’s been stuck on how to start it for a little while-- ever since Rossi had added to his sketchbook collection by pressing the warm leather bound thing into his hands like it was made of precious gold, a smile light on his face. Unwilling to spoil it, maybe, with the wrong topic. He’s had plenty of others to fill anyway.

Until now, at least. He’s half-reclined among some crates, a knee pulled to his chest, the book resting against his thigh. Rossi and Rahal are seated at a rickety folding table a meter away, getting into a rather heated argument over something or other. Tahan thinks it’s probably about the human condition, seeing as Rahal has that ugly, vaguely cruel look on his face, and Rossi’s usually smiling lips are downturned, and they’re both gesturing so sharply and suddenly and often that it’s hard to get more than a gesture sketch done. 

And so that’s all what he does for a while, listening absently to their hissed logical word traps and their gotcha arguments and anecdotal and empirical evidence, filling pages and pages with gesture sketches, and then turning back and filling details-- the wrinkle between Rossi’s brows, the sharp bridge of Rahal’s nose, their flared nostrils and their passion and agitation. The twin looks of triumph as they continue to try and one-up each other, laying out a trap and then striking ruthlessly, cutting tongues and logic intertwined. 

He just thinks it’s nice that they’re letting themselves have fun. 

Rossi has been looking a little wide-eyed and lean around the edges lately as he slogs through mountains of intel, risking his neck for secret meetings with informants, trying desperately to keep them on the right track and to keep them alive. Rahal has been -- not wilting, maybe, but his near-death experience months back had left him on uncertain footing, crumbling pride and lingering fear warring within him. Their lively banter is almost gentle background noise, where normally there would only be the sound of the wind hissing over the sands behind the backdrop of daily life on base. 

It takes him a moment to realize they’ve fallen ominously silent, and when he lifts his gaze to see what the deal with that is, they’re both watching him closely. He finds he doesn’t quite have the piercing quality to Rahal’s gaze down on the paper before him, and without looking away from them he starts to absently erase what he has done of the youngest man’s eyes. Rossi, for his part, seems amused, eyes bright with something like excitement even as his lips remain pursed and his jaw clenched. Tahan raises his eyebrow in a silent, _what?_

Rahal’s voice is glacial when he snaps, “Well? What are you thinking of in all of this?”

Tahan slowly, thoughtfully, closes the little black book. He considers the things he’s believed for a long while: the innate dignity in being human, the strong should protect the weak, that cruelty and depravity are symptoms of an illness that’s been eating people alive for thousands of years. A common enemy in greed. The corner of his mouth quirks, and Rossi already looks resigned to hearing whatever stupid joke he’s about to let loose. “Naked women,” he drawls finally, folding the sketchbook carefully into his rucksack. 

There’s another long silence, though this one is tinged with outrage. When he looks up again, Rossi’s got his hand over his eyes, shoulders shaking with laughter, and Rahal’s jaw seems like it’s halfway to the table. He looks like he’s practically trembling with angry disbelief. 

Tahan tosses his pencil at him, and he swats it out of the air like an angry house cat. When he glances to the side and sees that Rossi is only laughing helplessly, the incense grows, and he barks out, “What the hell is so funny about that?” Turning his pale gaze back to Tahan, he continues, “You weren’t even paying attention?” 

“I leave the thinking to the big brains,” Tahan replies, settling back into his little nest of crates as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Rossi draws his hand away from his face and gives him an unbearably fond look, and then gently taps the back of Rahal’s hand to get his attention. 

“Let's leave him to his fantasies, no? Surely he can only be so creative.”


End file.
